Hello everyone! It’s been… a while, since I’ve posted on here. Oops. Anyway, I’m here to let you all know about my new 25 Days of Drarry fic!! Here’s all the information you need, and the link to the first chapter. Merry Christmas if you celebrate, and Happy Holiday if not Xx
Title: Seasons of Mists and Mellow Fruitfulness
Word Count: ~62.5k
Rating: Explicit
Tags/Warnings: POV Harry Potter, Shop Owner!Draco, Ex-Auror!Harry, Suspicious!Harry, Explicit Sexual Content, Top Harry/Bottom Draco, Rimming, Oral Sex, Frottage, Anal Sex, see work for more tags
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
So I remember reading this fic on a03. Drarry are transported to a magical Christmas cabin, D gets stuck in a pit, and it turns out their friends set the whole thing up.
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I feel myself falling down a spiral of water, slipping deeper into my mind. I know I won’t be able to surface by myself, but I don’t really care. Potter is the only thing that can stop me drowning now, but he won’t come to rescue me. I know that. So instead I pull myself out, gasping when my mind clears.
Harry is that person who after a decade of being a Hogwarts graduate still he's Gryffindor pride. Like everyone else Hermione and eventually (many years later), Ron get over the whole house system but Harry will hear about Gryffindor winning/losing a quick game and brag/sulk about it. Then later Draco is around while Harry boasts about Gryfindor a Draco overhears and jumps in with Gryffindor slander and Slytherin praise because of course Draco still has Slytherin pride.
Not Just Quidditch
Teen | <2k | Rivals to Lovers | Post Hogwarts
Thank you @crazybutgood for the beta read!
~*^*^*~
Harry stood before Ron, watching him shake his head and roll his eyes with growing annoyance. Ron just didn’t understand.
“Mate, you need to get over this! Hogwarts was a lifetime ago,” Ron exclaimed, wrapping his arm tighter around Hermione’s waist. “I don’t see why you bring it up every time.”
“But… But Gryffindor won, Ron! They won the House Cup again!”
Hermione laughed under her breath, a small sound that Harry almost missed. “Harry… I understand that Hogwarts—and Gryffindor, especially—was the first place you really felt at home, but Ron’s right. We graduated a decade ago; you need to start letting go.”
Her eyes held something akin to pity, and Harry wanted nothing more than to see it disappear, but he knew it wouldn’t. They’d had this conversation too many times to count, and she never seemed to believe him when he said it wasn’t about that.
Yes, Hogwarts was the first community he was ever really a part of, and yes, it was where he felt most at home all those years ago, but that was irrelevant. Gryffindor gave Harry a chance at redeeming himself; at picking his life back up. When he graduated, when he moved on with his life, there was nothing to fill that void.
Ron and Hermione didn’t have that issue. Ron joined the Auror force and wanted to show his parents that he was good at something like his brothers; that he was capable of being the best. And he did. Hermione went into politics, fighting for creature rights and equality. She was named one of the most influential women of the Wizarding World only last year. She was successful.
Harry had nothing.
He crashed out during Auror training, his mind and body not yet recovered from the war. His relationship with Ginny went up in flames not even two years in, and dating proved to be impossible when everyone just wanted to sell him out to the Prophet. Harry had nothing to fill his time, nothing to throw himself into. No hobbies, no job, no partner.
When a Hogwarts newsletter had mistakenly been sent to him, he had become… a little obsessed. At least, that’s the word Ron used.
What did it matter if he became absorbed back into Hogwarts life? Who cared if he attended every Quidditch game he could, even if he didn’t know anyone playing personally? Harry couldn’t see the problem. He was just supporting his school and letting off some steam.
It was a shame neither of his friends agreed.
~*^*^*~
“Mate, not again.”
“What?! All I said was that—”
“Yes, that Gryffindor won a random, midnight Seekers’ game that no one else knows about. How on earth did you even find out?” Ron asked, bouncing baby Rose on his hip.
Harry pursed his lips. He knew where this conversation was going to go. “In the Hogwarts newsletter… the unofficial one run by the Seventh Years.”
Ron groaned, moving Rose to his other hip. “Mate, you need to stop reading that thing. This obsession with Gryffindor isn’t healthy!”
Harry disagreed, of course, but he was so sick of this argument! He rewrapped his scarf around his neck, belatedly realising it was his old Gryffindor one… Rubbing a hand over his face, Harry sighed. “Fine. I’ll stop telling you about it.”
“No, mate. You need to stop paying attention to it. Find something else to do!” Ron bounced Rose and held her up high. Looking into her eyes, he muttered, “Don’t listen to him, Rosie-posie. Your godfather is going round the bend.”
Harry rolled his eyes but didn’t comment. He needed new friends.
~*^*^*~
“Hermione! Did you see that—”
“That Slytherin won the last Quidditch match? I did, actually,” she interrupted, raising an eyebrow. Harry stared at her. “What? Is that not what you were going to tell me?”
Harry snapped his mouth shut. “How on earth did you know? And can you believe it?! They must have cheated, it’s the only way!”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Somebody else beat you to it today. And no, Harry, I don’t think they cheated. It’s nearly impossible to cheat in Quidditch anyway, especially with the new referee.”
“Who told you?!” Harry asked, incredulous. No one else knew these things, no one else followed as closely.
“I did, Potter.”
Harry knew that voice. He spun on his heel, eyes locking with… Dammit.
“Malfoy?”
Malfoy smirked. “Glad to see your eyes haven’t completely failed you yet, Potter. I thought for sure they would have.”
Harry scowled but refused to rise to the bait. He was an adult now, according to Hermione. “How do you know about the match?” he asked, voice low.
A faint blush tinted Malfoy’s cheeks pink. “I read the newsletter, of course. Didn’t you?”
“Of course I did! But… I didn’t think anyone else did.”
Malfoy lifted his chin ever so slightly, looking down his nose. Harry wanted to growl and tell him to drop the haughty act, but there was just something about it… “You mean aside from the entirety of Hogwarts?”
Harry bit the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to remain silent. “Why were you talking to Hermione?” he asked, fully aware that he had failed but not caring.
“Bit defensive there, Potter? We work together, or did she not tell you?” Malfoy flicked his gaze over to Hermione for the first time. A tiny smile tugged at his lips, pulling apart the arrogance with which he was looking at Harry.
Harry’s eyes narrowed, watching Malfoy’s mask slide back up when he faced Harry again. “‘Mione works in the creature equality sub-department, I can’t quite imagine that you do too.”
Malfoy scowled. “I work in the sub-department next door, actually, but our research and papers often overlap.” Malfoy’s hands laced together in front of himself, and Harry struggled not to look down at them. “If you must know,” he added belatedly.
Hermione cleared her throat, and Harry turned to her with an arched eyebrow. “If you two are finished behaving like teenagers, we have to get going.” Her gaze flicked between Harry and Malfoy, her eyes calculating. “Thanks for walking me to work, Harry, but since Malfoy is here I may as well walk the rest of the way with him,” she said, smiling softly at Harry. “I’ll see you after work.”
Harry wanted to argue, wanted to say that walking through the Ministry with Malfoy was a bad idea, but Hermione was already looking at him. Cursing her in his head, he pulled her into a hug and turned on his heel to leave.
He definitely didn’t look over his shoulder to find Malfoy already watching him.
~*^*^*~
“Potter!”
Harry sighed, rolled his eyes, and turned to face Malfoy. “Fancy seeing you here,” he sneered, knocking back the rest of his drink.
The music swelled, drowning out all sounds of conversation. Malfoy smiled, a bright flash of teeth under the lights. “I’ve worked with Hermione for years, Potter, of course she invited me to her birthday party.”
Harry hated that he had a good point. He allowed his eyes to take in Malfoy’s appearance for once, noting his obscenely tight leather pants and sheer grey shirt. Something tightened in his stomach. “I don’t see why you had to actually show up though,” he replied, darting his gaze back to Malfoy’s eyes.
“It would have been rude not to! Besides, I was kind of hoping that you heard about the last Hogwarts match…?” Malfoy asked, trailing off. Nervous.
Harry couldn’t fight back his grin. As much as it pained him to admit it, Malfoy wasn’t that bad anymore. And talking to him about Quidditch was better than talking to himself about it, so. “Can you believe Hufflepuff won?!”
Malfoy—or should he be Draco, now?—lit up. “Did you see Ravenclaw’s chaser? She was incredible!”
Harry beamed at him. Even though they’d already spoken about the last five matches, it still surprised him how well they could get on. Maybe he should stop expecting them not to.
~*^*^*~
The next time Harry saw Malfoy, he was extremely hungover, and Draco was wearing a Gryffindor scarf.
“What’s that?” he asked, lifting a hand to point in the vague direction of Draco.
“Uhm. Me?” Draco replied, stepping closer and wrapping a hand around Harry’s upper arm. “Are you drunk?”
“I was drunk.” Draco’s hair looked so lovely in the soft morning light. His eyes reflected the sun, bright gold lighting up silver. Pretty.
Draco sighed and pulled his wand out with a speed that made Harry’s head hurt. He waved his wand over Harry, and then everything was clear.
Harry groaned in relief, his eyes falling closed. The ground stopped moving under him, the world came back into focus. Draco was still beautiful.
“Why are you wearing that?” he asked again—at least, he thought he’d already asked—pointing at the Gryffindor scarf.
Draco pursed his lips. “Slytherin lost the match. I lost our bet.”
And just like that, everything made a lot more sense. They’d spent last night at a pub, waiting for the most recent newsletter to arrive. They’d struck up a bet that the loser had to wear the winning House’s colours, and then gotten drunk. Very drunk, in Harry’s case.
“Oh. That’s good,” he murmured, eyes fixed on the scarf. The red complimented the faint blush on Draco’s cheeks nicely. Harry reached out to thread his fingers through the ends of the scarf, not quite realising he was doing it until the soft fabric touched his fingers. Since when were they standing close enough for him to touch Draco?
Draco froze but didn’t say anything, and Harry reluctantly pulled his hand away again.
“Are you alright, Harry?” Draco asked, his voice quiet and soft. Caring.
Harry blinked. He took a deep breath, trying not to think about how close they were. About how pretty Draco looked. “I’m great. I beat you!” he said, trying to ease the tension and put them back on familiar ground.
Draco just smiled softly at him. “You always did, at school.”
Harry swallowed hard. “I’m sure you beat me once.”
“You would remember if I had,” Draco pointed out. “Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you could walk after all that Firewhisky last night,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
“And to show me the scarf,” Harry added, eyes glued to the red fabric once again.
“Yes,” Draco murmured, but he didn’t make any move to leave. He just stood there, barely a foot away from Harry, looking at him.
Harry gulped, and then his hands were moving without his permission. They reached out for Draco, skating over his shoulders before holding them firmly. Draco’s lips parted, his eyes locked to Harry’s. Harry vaguely realised what he was doing—what he was going to do—but it wasn’t enough to stop him.
He wanted this.
He had for a while.
In the end, it was Draco who closed the gap. His lips met Harry’s in a gentle kiss, as if he was unsure it would be well received. Harry sighed into it, pulling Draco closer and responding immediately. Draco relaxed, winding his hands into Harry’s hair and holding him close.
When they pulled apart, Harry couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him.
“I can’t believe that just happened.”
Draco smiled, his thumbs stroking Harry’s cheeks. “I can.”
“All because of Quidditch, too,” Harry murmured, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Draco’s.
“Not just Quidditch,” Draco argued, his eyes closing.
For the prints could you write something with Drarry going on a picnic in a park?
Thank you for the prompt, I had a lot of fun writing this!
Warnings: tickling
~~~
The Apparition is smooth, and Draco lands clean on his feet. Harry, as always, falls flat on his arse. Draco tries to stifle his laugh as he helps Harry up, but Harry still directs a glare his way.
“I’m glad I brought the food,” Draco says, watching intently as Harry dusts off his jeans and tries to fix his hair. Tries being the operative word.
Harry’s glare turns into a scowl. “Yes yes, I’m hopeless at Apparating. Just remember that I put this together for you.”
“And for that I am very thankful,” Draco says, bumping his shoulder against Harry’s. “Come on, let’s find a spot.”
Harry sets off in front of Draco--likely pretending to be annoyed a little longer--and Draco hurriedly follows after him, the basket of food and drink knocking into his thigh.
Draco had always thought that picnics were for girls. That they belonged in his mother’s romance novels and not anywhere in his life. The first time Harry had packed a lunch and dragged Draco to the park, Draco had been grumpy and very skeptical. Now, they do this nearly every week.
Catching up to Harry, he threads his free hand into Harry’s and squeezes. “Thank you, Harry.”
Harry looks at him, a soft smile tugging at his lips. He nods, squeezing Draco’s hand back. “What about under that tree?”
Draco follows the direction Harry juts his chin in, and agrees. A massive tree stretches out over a field of wildflowers, covering the grass with splashes of pink, purple, and yellow. “Perfect.”
Harry tugs on Draco’s hand and drags him to the tree. Harry unfolds the blanket, and Draco places the basket down on top of it. The sun filters through the leaves above, casting beautiful shadows onto the blanket. Draco watches as Harry gets into a comfortable position, and then he lies down on top of him.
Harry laughs and shakes his head, the movement ruffling Draco’s hair. He tuts at Harry, but doesn’t complain when Harry threads his fingers into his hair.
“Look at that cloud Draco,” Harry murmurs into his ear. “It looks like a cat.”
Draco scoffs, opening his eyes and squinting past the sun. He tries to follow Harry’s gaze, but all he sees is clouds. “Nope. Not seeing it.”
Harry chuckles, his chest rising and falling underneath Draco. “I guess I just have superior vision then.”
Holding back a laugh, Draco turns around slightly to look at Harry. “And what about if I were to take those hideous glasses off your stupid, unattractive face?”
Harry makes a noise of protest and catches Draco’s arms, holding them firmly in place on the off chance Draco actually tried. “I don’t think so. Besides, you love my stupid, unattractive face.”
Draco huffs but doesn’t deny it. “You’re just a sore loser.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
He shrugs. “Look! That one looks like you!”
Harry releases Draco’s arms in favour of running his fingertips up his sides, making goose bumps rise on Draco’s skin. “I’m sure it doesn’t.”
“No look! It has massive eyes, messy hair, and glasses! Plus, it looks like it’s angry.”
Harry’s fingers dig into Draco’s ribs, ripping an undignified shriek out of him. He tries to wrestle away, but Harry flips them over so Draco’s chest is pressed into the blanket and he has nowhere to go. Harry tickles him incessantly, unrelenting in his torture. Draco whips his head back and forth, wriggling around to try and dislodge Harry. Bloody bastard is too strong.
“Say it, Draco,” Harry murmurs, breath warm on the back of Draco’s neck.
Draco feels himself blushing, knowing exactly what Harry is asking. “Say what?”
Harry doesn’t give a verbal response, just picks his tickling back up.
Draco struggles to calm down, laughter wrecking his breathing, and Harry eventually stops. “Say it.”
Draco shakes his head, hiding his smirk in the blanket. They don’t always end up wrestling like idiots, but it's a common enough occurrence, and Harry only ever wants one thing to occur before stopping.
The first time it had happened, Draco had been insulting Harry’s reading habits. Apparently, he doesn’t only read Quidditch Weekly, but Draco still finds that hard to believe. He had been reduced to begging, his breath erratic and tears trailing down his face with laughter. Harry had forced him further though, and Draco had eventually caved. I’m sorry.
“Absolutely not Potter. Now get off me, you buffoon,” Draco snaps, knowing that his smile would be a dead give away if Harry could see it.
“Come on. Two words Malfoy, surely you can manage.” Harry presses Draco into the ground harder, before nuzzling into the nape of his neck. Sap.
Draco huffs out a breath. There’s nothing for it. Swallowing his (admittedly, small amount of) pride, Draco finally mumbles out: “I’m sorry.”
Harry laughs against his neck, but releases his grip slightly. Draco shivers when his fingertips trail gently up his sides again. “What was that? I didn’t quite hear it.”
Draco shakes his head before bucking Harry off him. He listens to him hit the ground, laughter immediately overtaking Harry too. “Consider yourself lucky I said it at all,” Draco says, rolling onto his back and combing his fingers through his hair. He reaches for the basket of food, pulling out an apple and biting into it. The crunch is loud in his ears, and sweet juice floods his mouth. Perfect.
He hears Harry release a content sigh, and turns to watch him reposition himself. With his arms tucked under his head and his eyes closed to the sun, he looks peaceful. Happy. Draco rolls onto his side, shamelessly watching Harry just exist.
“Thank you for taking me out, Harry,” Draco whispers, the words somehow still loud in the quiet of the park.
“Always, Draco.”
It’s a promise, and Harry always keeps his promises.
Prompt: "You're not your father." "I know! But I could be." "But you're not." A choice made everyday.
Warnings: Hurt/comfort, being afraid of turning into your parents
Overall, this one is very light! Lots of comfort to be found <3 Thank you @tobeleftoutinthedark for the beta!!
***
"You're not your father."
"I know I’m not! But I could be."
"But you're not."
Draco tips his head back in frustration, his eyes falling shut. Harry isn’t understanding. Harry never understands. He won’t ever know what it’s like, can’t ever know. “Potter, I don’t know why I brought this up. I’m going to head back inside.”
Harry scoffs, darting his hand out to grab Draco’s wrist before he can take so much as a step away. “You haven’t called me that all term, Malfoy. Don’t start now.”
Draco’s heart squeezes at the reminder of their hesitant friendship, and how it’s clearly not going to work out after all. He tilts his chin up, looking down his nose at Harry. Potter. Whatever. “My mistake.”
“Don’t do that, you bloody arsehole. I know you don’t believe you’re above everyone else, drop the act.” Harry tugs on Draco’s wrist, pulling him towards him. They are close enough that Draco can smell his deodorant, his aftershave. He would be able to reach out and card his fingers through Harry’s hair if he wanted. Salazar, he wants to. But he won’t. He can’t. Harry surely wouldn’t allow it.
Draco makes a concentrated effort to keep his chin lifted. Even if he’s being torn apart by the image of his father reflected in the mirror, he can at least project calm indifference. The Malfoy mask is notorious for a reason. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Harry shakes his head, dropping Draco’s wrist. It takes everything in Draco not to glance down now that the pressure is gone. “When you do that. That’s when you look like Lucius.”
Draco’s heart stops, skips a beat for all the wrong reasons. Dread and disgust creep up his spine, making him shudder against his will. He drops the mask. Harry grins at him in return, and puts his hand on his shoulder. The warmth of his skin seeps through Draco’s button down and into his own skin.
“You’re not your father,” Harry repeats. He interrupts Draco when he goes to shake his head. “No, you aren’t. You came back to school for an eighth year; you started a peer support group for the younger years. You make an effort to help someone every single day. Draco, you are a good person.”
Draco drops his eyes, not able to look at Harry. In a small voice, he mumbles, “My father paid tens of thousands of galleons to charities. He helped people too.”
A single finger finds its way below Draco’s chin, pressing Draco’s head back up. A gasp falls from his mouth when he sees how much closer Harry is standing now. Their chests are nearly touching, a single step forward and…
No. It doesn’t matter how much Draco longs to close the distance, to feel Harry’s lips under his own, it can’t ever happen. There’s no way Harry feels the same; the Prophet would have a field day. No, Draco just has to be happy with the tentative friendship they’ve found with each other. Even if sometimes he swears he catches Harry looking at him a second too long.
“Look at me, Draco. He only did that to appeal to the public. The motive behind the donations was not pure. You help others for the sake of it, not to gain popularity.” Harry takes a breath, shaking his head in exasperation. Like he couldn’t believe Draco would think like this. “You are good.”
Draco tips his head back, uncaring about the vulnerability of exposing his neck to Potter; Harry hasn’t been Potter in a long time. He closes his eyes, and in the few seconds he stands like that, it begins to rain. Glancing back to Harry, he watches as drops of water fall and rest on his hair. Tiny bubbles of white stark against the black. It brings out his eyes.
“I try to be good,” Draco admits, the confession so quiet he can barely hear it himself.
Harry nods avidly at him. “That’s all anyone can do.” He moves his hand to cup Draco’s cheek, his thumb rubbing against his cheekbone and drawing electricity to Draco’s skin. “You choose, every day, to try to be good. That takes a lot of bravery, Draco.”
Draco sighs, trying not to let his eyes fall closed. The praise mixed with the gentle touch is relaxing him, too much for his sanity. He finds himself nodding slowly, unaware of agreeing with Harry until he is.
He watches with widening eyes as Harry takes a step closer. Harry’s thumb stops moving, resting against his skin. Draco feels his other hand press into his hip. It feels intimate, like a touch shared between lovers. His heart skips a beat, this time for the right reason.
“We should go back inside, Harry. It’s raining,” Draco rasps, trying to ignore the bubble of warmth he’s found himself in.
Harry takes a breath, eyes darting between Draco’s and--Draco pauses, there’s no way--to his lips. “In a second. There’s something I want to do first.”
Draco is frozen, completely unable to move even as he watches Harry move closer. Their lips meet, Harry pressing against him firmly. Sparks skitter across Draco’s skin, his stomach flipping. He finds his hands moving to grip the back of Harry’s neck and threads his fingers into his hair. He kisses back, and Harry melts against him.
By the time they pull away, they are soaked to the bone, but Draco can’t find himself caring. He opens his eyes--when had he closed them?--and stares at Harry. Harry smiles at him, a small lift of his lips. Draco finds himself laughing for some reason, slotting his hand into Harry’s and tugging him back into the castle and out of the rain.
For the Drarropoly 2021 (@gameofdrarry) prompt: Harry OR Draco writes the horoscopes for the newspaper of your choice under a pen name. The other always reads the horoscopes but doesn't know who writes them. All they know is that whenever they're going through a rough patch, their horoscope suddenly gets very positive and uplifting.
Teen, 2.4k, Getting Together/First Kiss, No Warnings
~*~*~
~Due to Venus going into its shadow period of retrograde, you may experience some ups and downs in your relationships. A new love interest may arrive, but may not be noticed until after the retrograde ends.~
Harry sighed, throwing the bit of newspaper into the bin by his desk. He once again found himself wondering who ThePurebloodPrince really was.
It wasn’t that Harry particularly believed in horoscopes per se… those ones were just always exceedingly accurate. Hermione had literally threatened to throttle him the first time he brought an article by Moonstone up in conversation. Ron had laughed for so long his face matched his hair. But when Draco sat him down and explained everything, Harry thought it made a lot of sense.
Draco knew a lot about horoscopes and zodiac signs and many other things that Harry could never remember the name of. Some of Harry’s fondest memories were of Draco helping him decipher their meanings, circling words and underlining others. Harry hadn’t been aware of how pretty Draco looked while working until that point; God, did Harry wish he still wasn’t.
“Did you see today’s horoscope?” Harry asked Draco later that day, over their shared lunch. “It warned of rocky relationships.”
Draco just nodded, taking a rather undignified sip of his boba tea. “Of course it did, Venus is going into retrograde again. Just be glad you aren’t a Taurus or Libra.”
Harry paused, his sandwich halfway to his mouth. “Why is that relevant?”
Draco sighed in exasperation, putting his drink down and picking up a fork. “Have you learnt nothing Harry?” Harry shivered at the use of his first name, still unused to how nice it sounds coming off Draco’s tongue. And isn’t that a thought… “Taurus and Libra are ruled by Venus, so it will affect them the most of other signs. That being said, the rest of us will still be impacted.”
Harry hummed, biting into his pork and apple sandwich. “Makes sense.” He was silent for a moment, trying to think of how to phrase his next sentence. “The horoscope also mentioned something about a potential love interest… Do you think that’s likely?”
He watched Draco blush slightly, pink rising to his cheeks for a second before he cleared his throat. “It’s possible. Horoscopes are nearly always trying to make claims of new romance though, so be careful.”
Harry nodded, trying to push away the image of Draco’s pink cheeks and throat.
~*~*~
~As Venus leaves retrograde, you may find yourself seeing recent events more clearly. Express your gratitude for your friends and family. Put time aside to rejuvenate yourself.~
Harry ripped the paper in half, casting an incendio on the spot. “Like bloody hell.”
Draco looked over from his desk, and Harry scowled at him. Draco merely rolled his eyes. “What is it, Potter? I’m trying to finish the paperwork you left for me to do.”
Harry wanted to shove him for using his surname again. “The bloody horoscope says that I need help and am impatient.”
He watched as an eyebrow rose delicately up Draco’s face. “And you think that is inept, how?” he asked, eyes boring into Harry’s.
Harry ducked his head, rubbing at the back of his neck. “It… isn’t, exactly. I just-- The timing of it is so wild.”
Draco made a tutting sound at him, and Harry listened as the scratching of his quill started up again. “They exist for a reason, Harry. No one would read them if they weren’t accurate.”
“I know. I do. It’s just… we got that new assignment for this afternoon and, I don’t know.”
“What did the rest of it say, then?” Draco asked, eyes still on his paperwork even as Harry looked over at him.
“Something or other about being grateful to my friends,” Harry grumbled, pushing his cup around with his quill.
Draco tried to cover a laugh, smothering it in his elbow. “Well? Where’s my thank you?”
Harry scowled. “Who says you’re getting one?”
“The fact that I’m doing your share of the paperwork, as usual, and you’re sitting on your arse doing nothing,” Draco said, his quill moving over parchment again.
Harry bit his lip, teeth sinking into the flesh. He sighed. “Thank you, Draco.” A pause. “I guess.”
Draco grinned. “There we go. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
~*~*~
Harry was not feeling it. His brain just couldn’t seem to shut up. Yesterday’s horoscope had said something about today being tough, but Harry hadn’t actually expected it to be true. Not to the extent it was.
Their case had failed. Gone entirely up in smoke. And a hostage had been injured.
Draco wasn’t much better than Harry, but was of course trying to hide just how affected he was. “It’s okay Harry. They’re still alive, and they’re in the right place to heal. It will only be a few days,” he said, struggling to reassure Harry.
“I know. But it’s not just that! We lost the lead, Draco. And they know we’re investigating. It’s been months, and now we’re back to square one.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, groaning in frustration.
Draco nudged his shoulder into Harry’s, and Harry glanced back up at him. His hair was a mess, blond strands flying in every direction. Some were charred, turning black from the explosion. At least his face was unharmed, the grazes limited to his hands. His hands, one of which was holding out a piece of paper for Harry.
He took it, and unfolded it to find a new entry in Moonstone.
~Today may be challenging, but it is important to remember the positives too. You might want to talk to a friend you find comfort from.~
Harry shook his head. “How does ThePurebloodPrince always know? It feels like he’s actually present in my life, watching from a distance as everything falls apart.”
Draco reached for Harry, his hand landing on his hip. The curl of his fingers against Harry’s waist sent his heart racing, but Harry didn’t move; couldn’t move. He closed the distance between them, pulling Draco into a hug. His head fell into Draco’s shoulder, for once glad of Draco’s slight height advantage.
After a moment, Draco began rubbing his back. His hands pressed circles and long strokes into his skin, and Harry found himself relaxing despite his overactive brain hurrying to process everything. Like the fact Draco smelled of smoke and cinnamon.
“We’ll be okay, Harry. There’s always tomorrow.”
~*~*~
It wasn’t long until ThePurebloodPrince struck again, and this time Harry was not having it.
“How the fuck does he know about that?!” he asked, storming around the joint desks to slam the newspaper onto Draco’s work space.
Draco sighed, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “For the hundredth time, Harry, the horoscopes are targeted to everyone and not just you. He doesn’t necessarily know anything.”
Harry shook his head, trying not to think about how close and touchable Draco was. “I know, it’s just… how could a stranger possibly know I stumbled through the Floo drunk last night?”
He watched Draco bite his lip, clearly trying not to laugh and ruin his composure. “Maybe there’s a bug in your room and it was leaked?”
“Okay, that’s a stretch, even for you,” Harry huffed. “How do you even know what a bug is anyway?”
“We’re aurors Harry, it’s literally my job.”
Harry glared, not wanting to admit defeat but unsure how to continue. The words of the new Moonstone horoscope jumped out at him, and he barely restrained himself from Vanishing the paper and the entire desk.
~So, you drunkenly stumbled through the Floo, and knocked off the only photo you have of your great aunt. Today is the day for wild adventures, confess your love to someone special.~
“Even you have to admit that it’s oddly specific, not to mention stupid, Draco. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were the one to write it! You’re the only one I told about last night.”
Draco ducked his head, his hand beginning to move across his parchment again. “Don’t be ridiculous Harry. I enjoy reading them, but I wouldn’t betray your trust like that.”
Harry scoffed. “You would if it benefitted you.” As Draco’s face fell, he quickly added, “With all good intentions, of course.”
He watched Draco carefully place his quill back down, take a breath, and look back at Harry. “And what would I hope to gain from that horoscope?”
“I don’t know, maybe you want me to confess some secret love for you.”
The moment Harry said it, he felt his blood rushing to his cheeks. Mistake, abort abort abort. He couldn’t ignore how the idea of that warmed him to his soul--how it made his heart race and his arms long to feel Draco inside them; hadn’t for a long time. When he gained the confidence to glance back at Draco, he found him staring at him, jaw slack.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Draco murmured, and Harry swore there was something hidden underneath those words.
~*~*~
The next time one of ThePurebloodPrince’s horoscopes landed on Harry’s desk, he didn’t even bother looking at it. He opened the new edition of Moonstone to the usual page, ripped it clean out of the newspaper, and Vanished it. Draco watched him while he did it, his eyes boring into Harry’s back.
“You didn’t even read it,” he said, surprise evident in the way his gaze didn’t falter from Harry’s.
“I’ve given up on it. I’m sick of reading things that so closely parallel my own life, and having everyone make fun of me. I don’t need horoscopes written by some stranger to dictate how I live my life.” Okay, that wasn’t exactly true, but Harry didn’t want to admit how void his life felt without ThePurebloodPrince’s knowledgeable insights every day.
Draco sighed, pushing his chair back and standing up. Harry watched as he crossed the room and perched on the side of Harry’s desk, getting comfortable. “I would have liked to see you read that one.”
It took Harry a second, but when he realised the implication of that statement, he rose an eyebrow. “You know what it says?”
Draco nodded, eyes suddenly looking anywhere but Harry.
“How?”
Draco ducked his head, his voice as he said, “I wrote it.”
Harry froze. “You what?”
“I wrote it. Just like yesterday’s, and the one before that. I’m ThePurebloodPrince, Harry. I’m sorry,” Draco murmured. His neck was turning red, his eyes on the floor. Tension was written in every line of his body, now sitting stiffly on Harry’s desk.
When Harry didn’t say anything, unable to process what he was being told, Draco slid down and moved towards their office door. He looked miserable, and the sight of him pressing his mouth into a line is what kicked Harry into action.
“Draco, wait!” he called, rushing to move after him.
Harry’s hand circled Draco’s wrist, his fingers wrapping the whole way around. When Draco didn’t react, standing stock still before the door, Harry gathered the courage to turn him back around. Heart in his throat, pulse roaring in his ears, Harry met his gaze.
Draco’s normally stunning, icy silver eyes were swimming with doubt and regret. His shoulders were tight, his neck held stiffly in place. Harry swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.
“There’s nothing to apologise for, Draco.”
“I shouldn’t have-”
“No, listen to me. It’s all right. I don’t care. It makes a lot of sense, actually.” Harry took a second to breathe, relaxing his grip on Draco. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was going to, I swear! Once I started hiding it though, it became harder to bring it up. I shouldn’t have written the things I did, Harry. It was an invasion of privacy-”
Harry tightened his hold again, pulling Draco towards him. “Those things you wrote… did you mean them?”
Draco scowled. “You’re going to have to be more specific. I’ve written many things for Moonstone.”
“You know what I mean,” Harry all but growled, barely resisting the urge to lean in closer. “The- the love things.”
He felt Draco tense again, every muscle in his body seemingly locking into place. His mouth stayed stubbornly shut.
“Because I want you to have meant them,” Harry whispered, his fingers tingling with nerves. “I- I like you, Draco.”
Draco gasped, his eyes widening the smallest amount. Then his face shuttered again, his expression closing off. “I don’t need you ridiculing me, Potter. I know perfectly well that you could never feel that way about me.”
“You’ve been flirting with me through horoscopes for months Draco! And I’ve been flirting back! Surely you must know.”
“You were not flirting back, Potter. Let me go.” He accentuated the demand with a swift tug of his wrist.
Harry glared. “It’s Harry.”
Draco glared right back.
“I’m being honest, Draco. Remember, back when Venus was going into its shadow period of retrograde? That horoscope mentioned something about a new love interest… was that when you started to like me?”
Draco sighed, his body relaxing infinitesimally. “No. That was when I began feeling brave enough to express it.”
Harry’s heart dropped out of his chest. The pins and needles spread from his fingertips up into his hands. “Serious?”
He nodded, taking a tiny step towards Harry. “Serious.”
Harry swallowed, his tongue darting out to lick his dry lips. “I’ve liked you for so long, Draco.”
“What are you going to do about it, then?”
Harry surged forwards, closing the gap between them in a second. His hand moved from Draco’s wrist to his waist, his other sliding into Draco’s hair as their lips met. The kiss started out soft, lovely, but very quickly heated up. Draco tugged on Harry’s hair, his tongue sliding into Harry’s mouth when his jaw dropped open on a gasp.
The kiss was messy but perfect, and when he pulled away, gasping for breath, he reveled in the sight of Draco. His hair was a wreck from Harry’s fingers in it, his lips pink and swollen. He looked perfect.
For me the top of the list of things that feel gay and homophobic at the same time is Darco MyFatherWillHearAboutThis Malfoy
I really enjoyed this prompt! Thank you Raye for the beta <3
Warnings: drunken shenanigans, spin the bottle, and first kisses
***
The Room of Requirement is packed with students, speakers, and tables covered with cheap food and alcohol. Harry isn’t entirely sure who thought asking for Muggle speakers was a good idea, but the Room had supplied massive ones that take up a good amount of space. Occasionally a Pureblood bumps into them, and Harry takes great delight in watching them flinch and rush away.
When Hermione had suggested a party to help build interhouse relationships for the Eighth Years, Harry had been skeptical at best. When Ron had readily agreed to it, and even made sure the Slytherins were included, Harry was suspicious. There’s no way Ron was willing to hang out with Slytherins without an ulterior motive.
Part of Harry thinks he just wants to get into Hermione’s pants.
Face twisting in disgust at the thought, Harry forces himself back to the current situation. Most of the Eighth Years are gathered in a semi-circle, sitting in front of a roaring fire. There’s a bottle in the middle of the group, presently ignored in favour of the couple snogging. Harry didn’t see the point in playing Spin the Bottle. He had protested and claimed that they were too old to be making people kiss their classmates, but no one had wanted to listen to him.
Now though, after a few shots of Firewhiskey burning through his veins, he doesn’t think it’s such a bad idea anymore. If nothing else, it has finally made Dean and Seamus realise how stupid they are for each other.
“Alright alright! Keep it family friendly!” Hermione calls out, voice slightly slurred. The boys finally break apart, Dean squeezing Seamus’ butt once before moving back to his spot in the circle. Seamus flushes bright red, and after a moment, crawls after him.
“Spin the bottle!” Blaise shouts, grinning as it's set in motion again.
With all eyes turned to watch who it lands on, Harry takes a moment to scan the room again. There’s the circle of gay girls also playing spin the bottle, another group of people playing a drinking game of some sort, and not much else happening. The flash of blond hair he’s looking for is nowhere to be found, and he sighs under his breath. Bloody Malfoy must be invisible. Or not interested in getting drunk.
Harry forces his eyes back to his own circle, the group of boys staring in horror at the bottle. Theodore Nott and Terry Boot. Harry bites back a shocked laugh. It had surprised absolutely no one when both these boys came out, but surprised everyone when they started dating. Then it had all promptly fallen apart. And now they have to kiss because of a drunk party game. Harry feels slightly sorry for them, even if it’s also hilarious.
He watches as Terry wrinkles his nose in disgust, but shuffles forward on his knees to sit in the centre of the circle. Theo follows a moment later, scowling at Terry.
“It can’t be too bad Theo! You used to be constantly snogging him!”
“Not the time, Blaise,” Ron murmurs from where he’s standing with Hermione next to the fireplace. Ron may be bisexual, and therefore meets the criteria to join the game, but there’s no way he’d look at anyone else now he’s with Hermione. The two are nausea inducing, and Harry loves them.
Harry watches as Terry scoffs, fists his hands in Theodore’s shirt, and tugs him close. The kiss is a harsh peck, over in a second. Theo looks stunned, and then he’s hauling Terry back in. This time, it’s closer to snogging, and earns a few wolf whistles.
“I told you it wouldn’t be so bad,” Blaise mutters. “Bloody boys.”
“Blaise, you’re a boy,” Harry whispers pointedly.
Blaise just shrugs.
“Move it on lads,” Dean calls out.
Terry pulls away first, putting some distance between himself and Theo. And then he’s lifting a hand and slapping Theo across the cheek.
Theodore swears loudly, standing up and storming back to his spot next to Blaise. I guess they aren’t getting back together.
Cheers erupt from the circle of girls, and Harry turns to find Pansy and Lavender snogging. He watches as Pansy gets her hands in Lavender’s hair and tugs, making her moan. Hermione is quick to break it up, and the girls settle back down together, Pansy practically sitting in Lavender’s lap.
“Spin the bottle!” Anthony Goldstein calls, and Blaise takes great delight in grabbing it and giving a hard spin.
Harry zones out again, letting the game play around him. He briefly sees Blaise crawling into the circle, but he doesn’t know who the other player is. He glances around the room again. Where the fuck is Malfoy?
***
“You know what’s both gay and homophobic?” Theodore is asking a little while later, between rounds. Harry thinks having to kiss Dean Thomas is pretty high on his list. Dean a) has a boyfriend (as of 15 minutes ago) and b) is as far away from Harry’s type as possible. He won’t say that though; he would hate to offend one of his roommates of eight years.
“Guitars!”
The circle cheers.
“How?” Harry asks. He’s definitely missing something.
“You know. All those homophobic men who play them, but the gays love guitars.” Theo shakes his head like it should be obvious.
“Here I was thinking you’d say being forced to snog your ex!” Justin Finch-Fletchley called from across the room.
Theo huffs, looking down at the floor as his ears become pink.
An awkward cough draws Harry’s attention to someone outside the circle. Malfoy. Harry freezes, unable to tear his eyes away from Malfoy. His hair is for once not slicked back, but purposely tousled, hanging down over his forehead. His Hogwarts robes have been swapped out for a mesh black shirt and sinfully tight jeans. Harry can see his nipples through the shirt, and the sight makes his mouth water.
“You know what I think is gay and homophobic at the same time?” Ron, drunk off his arse, asks the group.
Everyone pauses, waiting.
“Draco MyFatherWillHearAboutThis Malfoy!”
The circle explodes with laughter and catcalls. All eyes turn to Malfoy, and Harry watches as the boys rake their eyes over his outfit. Something heavy settles and twists in Harry’s gut.
Malfoy flushes a lovely colour of pink, stuttering. No words actually manage to form, and after a few attempts at talking, he just rolls his eyes.
“Join the circle Draco!” Blaise says, his words nearly slurred beyond recognition. Theo nods enthusiastically, and soon everyone else is practically begging Malfoy to join. With an exaggerated sigh, Malfoy makes his way to the circle, sitting down between Theo and Blaise.
Great. Time to leave.
Harry shuffles back slowly, hoping not to draw any attention to himself. The universe has other plans though, as all eyes immediately fix on him.
Harry clears his throat. “I’m uh- I’m gonna go find Hermione. It’s getting late.” He feels his cheeks heating up, and hopes that the flush will be hidden under his dark skin. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
“Nope. Absolutely not. It’s just gotten interesting!” Seamus declares, his accent made all the more worse with excess alcohol. Dean, who Seamus is using as a chair, nods along.
“Yeah Potter, play one more round with us!” Anthony pipes up, a smirk playing on his lips.
A hand grabs Harry’s wrist and tugs him back to the floor. Harry resumes his position in the circle with a scowl. He can’t believe this is happening. Except, it’s not at all surprising.
“What do you say, Draco spins this time?” Blaise asks the group, and everyone nods. Everyone except Harry, who can’t think of a worse idea, but no one seems to care.
Malfoy turns to look at Blaise, his expression hidden from Harry; after a slight hesitation, he reaches forward. Draco’s pale, delicate hands look beautiful next to the bottle. Harry shakes his head. I must be really drunk.
The bottle spins and spins and spins. Harry nearly goes dizzy from watching it move, trying to predict where it will end up. Eventually it begins to slow down. Harry tracks its movements, his eyes flitting from Terry to Anthony to Dean to Seamus to…
“No. Nuh uh, no way.”
All faces once again turn to Harry, and he glares at all of them.
Harry turns to find Malfoy’s eyes, who is staring right at him. His gaze burns into Harry, setting him alight. I can’t do this.
“What’s wrong Potter?” Malfoy asks, popping the ‘p’ in an imitation of the way he used to say it. Now though, after the antagonism of their rivalry has faded to banter and bickering, Malfoy says it more gently. It always makes something in Harry’s brain melt. “Afraid I’ll be too good?” He lifts a single eyebrow, thin lips curving into a smirk.
“As if Malfoy. You’ve probably never kissed anyone before!” Harry knows it’s weak, but his brain is mostly offline thanks to the Firewhiskey and the idea of what’s about to happen. Because of course he’s going to kiss Malfoy.
“Trust me Potter, he has.”
Harry isn’t sure who said it, but he glares in the general direction. The image of Draco kissing someone other than him turns his mood sour. The weight in his gut reappears.
Draco is grinning when Harry looks at him again. He moves onto his knees and shuffles into the centre of the circle. “Scared, Potter?”
Harry scowls, pushing aside all rational thought, and joins him. “You wish, Malfoy.”
Harry doesn’t have another second to think, because Draco is grabbing the collar of Harry’s shirt and pulling him in. Fire floods Harry’s veins as his lips meet Draco’s. His fingers twitch, and he threads them into Draco’s breath-taking hair. The kiss turns heated very quickly, and Harry struggles to keep up as Draco slides his tongue against Harry’s. He’s going dizzy with it, burning from the inside out. His stomach flips as Draco slides his hands from his collar to the back of his neck, pulling him even closer.
Harry gasps for breath as they break apart, his lungs burning at the lack of oxygen. He can hear his pulse in his ears, blocking out everything except himself and Draco. After a second of harsh breathing, he feels lips on his jaw. A moan is wrenched from him as Draco nips gently, and then the mouth moves down to his neck. Draco sucks a mark into his skin, high up on his neck where Harry won’t be able to cover it. Harry can’t help the groan he releases, and tugs Draco back up to meet his lips again. Right where he wants him.
“Time to break it up!” someone is shouting, and Harry whines when Draco pulls away slightly.
As their foreheads rest against each other, Harry becomes aware of everyone in the Room cheering. Everyone. Not just the guys he was playing with, but the girls and other guys as well. Harry sighs, but he can’t help the smile on his lips.
“About bloody time mate,” Ron is saying when Harry finally gathers the courage to look at something other than the floor.
“Is now an appropriate time to say that I charmed the bottle?” Blaise asks, and Harry and Draco both whip around to look at him.
“You what?!” Draco shouts, glaring daggers into his friend.
“You two have been eye-fucking all term! I’m helping you get laid, Draco.” Blaise grins, the smug smile making Harry shake his head.
Draco rolls his eyes and stands up properly. Before Harry can begin doubting anything, Draco grabs his hand and hauls him up. Harry stands in front of Draco, a shy smile on his lips. God, he’s pretty.
“Come on, Harry,” Draco murmurs into his ear. “Let’s get out of here.”
Harry is helpless to do anything but nod and follow him out of the Room, ignoring the catcalls that trail after them.
